Snow Bound
by Joella
Summary: While the brothers try to deal with Sam's supposed destiny and John's command to Dean, Bobby sends them on a hunt. They find that the cold without is nothing to the coldness within. Season Two.
1. Chapter 1

**Snow Bound**

_A/N This takes place after Season Two's episode Hunted. "Snow Bound" was first published May 24, 2007 in Chinook Vol. 7 by Blackfly Presses. I am grateful to them. I especially want to thank Nightowl who, after reading "Devil's Cage," invited me to submit this story which was later accepted by their fanzine._

* * *

Night had settled over the junkyard. The TV was flickering in the dark room when Bobby heard the growl of the Impala. When Sam had left Dean behind at the Velvet Inn, Dean had called those he knew trying to find his brother. Bobby had promised to keep a lookout for the younger Winchester and had invited the two brothers to stop by when they were back on the road together. Levering himself off the couch, he went to the door as the adolescent pup, England, gamboled after him. Doors creaked open and then shut, one after the other. Sam, first to reach the house, nodded a silent greeting to Bobby and brushed past him.

"What the hell?" Sam's face was a rigid mask. Dean followed more slowly. His crestfallen face was the clue that Bobby needed. "He's still not taking it well, huh?"

"Yeah."

When the Winchesters had stayed with him after their father's death, Dean had alluded to some secret John had kept from them only to divulge it to Dean right before he died. Dean hadn't told Bobby what the secret was, just his fears that Sam would be very distraught by the news. Bobby had advised the older Winchester that sooner would be better than later if Dean had any intention of sharing the news. Sam now knew, and Dean was left to deal with the aftermath.

Sam headed for the office. He settled behind the desk and turned the chair away from the doorway, leaving Dean standing alone in the centre of the den. The trip from Peoria had been filled with silence. Sam's anger about Dean's silence had cooled. Now he was terrified about what had happened to Ava. Had she been taken or had she gone willingly? The implica­tions of either were cause for fear. Sam had stoically endured Dean's sideways glances and was driving him to distraction.

Bobby turned off the TV and gestured for Dean to follow him to the kitchen. Dean left his duffle on the floor, tossed his jacket on top, and ambled after Bobby. "You want to talk?" Bobby asked, as he reached up to grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses off the shelf. Pouring each a healthy shot, he placed the glasses on the table and settled down to listen.

Dean twirled his glass, watching the liquor swirl. "This mind-control dude got me to spill some of it by accident, and I let slip some more in Rivergrove. This whole thing has me seri­ously freaked out. I just need some time to think. Sam thinks I'm afraid of _him_. I'm not, but he doesn't believe me. If anything, I'm scared _for_ him. You were right; there's a war coming, and Sam is caught in the middle."

Bobby waited. He was good with puzzles. That's what made him a great researcher. And from the bits and pieces Dean had told him, Bobby had deduced it had something to do with the demon and why it had gone after Sam, twice. "I don't have an answer."

"He ditched me. He was hurt and furious and scared. Said he needed to figure out what's going on. I found him, but things went bad. Gordon tried to kill him because of his visions.

Sam agreed to come back with me, but I don't know if he'll stay. He's ripping his heart out."

"Dean. I'm betting that Sam no longer trusts you to tell the truth. Your daddy always kept secrets from everyone. You know that. You're really just now learning how much. But you two—I think Sam needs to believe that you'll be honest with him no matter what. You're all each other has. You love this life; he doesn't. He's only here because of you."

_And I'm only staying to save him,_ Dean thought. "For now. But for how long…?" Dean remem­bered Sam choosing to hunt as a memorial to John. Now, he was hunting answers for himself.

Bobby had no answer to that.

Bobby insisted that Sam join them for dinner. The younger Winchester refused to meet the eyes of the others. He no longer looked upset; instead, he just looked lost. He'd learned for sure that his abilities were the reason his mother, his girlfriend, and his father had been killed by the demon. Now Sam knew what the demon planned, maybe why he existed. He was expected to be a soldier in the demon's army. Dean had promised, had sworn, that he knew Sam would never accede to the demon's plans, at least not willingly. Sam had to know Dean would shield him just as he had done all his life. But not telling him the truth…. To Sam, it must have seemed as though Dean did not trust him _not_ to fall into its plans. The demon had been pushing those kids he'd found. So far Sam had held firm. His rock was Dean's concern and love for him. If Sam thought Dean feared him, he would never feel safe, expecting other hunters like Gordon to turn from allies to enemies.

Dean snickered. Sam was so oblivious that he didn't notice he was eating spinach, a vegetable he despised. But his distracted air wasn't amusing. Dean knew some of it was his fault. They hadn't really talked much since leaving Peoria. Conversation, when it had happened at all, had stayed on mundane topics. Only the sounds of Dean's music had filled the Impala. Singing the lyrics in his head distracted him from his brother brooding beside him, a world away.

Looking at Sam's bowed head, Dean reaffirmed his vow that nothing would harm Sam. Sam would not turn on him, would not go dark side. Max, Andy, Anson, and Ava hadn't had Dean. Those others _did_ not have Dean. Sam did, and that would be enough.

Bobby cleared his throat. "I've found something that I think will help hunters a lot if it works." Two pairs of eyes turned towards him, glanced at each other, and then away.

"What is it?" asked Dean as Sam remained silent. It wasn't like him to not be fascinated with some aspect of research.

"A spell to locate lost bones. Specific bones that you're looking for. I found it in the _Lemegeton's Goetia_."

Both Winchesters straightened up at the thought of all the hours usually spent in research before traipsing around through graveyards or desolate areas becoming unnecessary. Dean's soaring spirits crashed back to earth with Bobby's next words.

"It has a _very_ limited range. It's only effective in a 25-yard radius, so you'll have to really narrow the search grid before it's cast. It's a compli­cated spell, and the ingredients aren't common, so you can't just keep recasting it 'til you find it."

"But at least it can help with unmarked grave­sites," croaked Sam. They were the first words out of his mouth the entire day.

Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at his plate and grimaced at the green mess he saw there. He looked over at Dean, who was chortling. He'd known how Sam felt about spinach and said nothing. Sam's stare was accusing, as if he suspected Dean had slopped it onto his brother's plate himself. Glaring at Dean, he turned to Bobby. "Do you have a hunt in mind to test this spell?"

"No, Sam. That's your job."

***

Sam rolled his shoulders and scrubbed his face with his hands. He needed a small break from being hunched over the computer, but not from the distraction of research. Looking through sites, he'd been able to focus on the search and ignore the conflicting thoughts in the back of his mind.

Looking up, he saw Bobby, who cleared his throat before asking, "Any luck finding some­thing?"

"A few ideas for hunts. I'll make a list and then decide which one would be the best test for this spell of yours."

Bobby shuffled his feet before taking the plunge. "Look. I can see you and Dean are really tense around each other. Much more so than when you left here for Colorado. Anything I can do?"

Sam felt his face stiffen.

"No, Sam. I need to say this, and I think you need to hear it. You're mad at Dean; we see that. You're upset with this thing he's told you." At Sam's startled, wary glance, Bobby hastened to reassure him. "He didn't tell me what it was about. I just know it was killing him to keep it from you. You were both so torn up with John's death and all and not really talking to each other when you stayed here before. We talked about John telling him a secret before you both left. He knew you'd be upset—hell, furious. But he was afraid you'd leave. Which you did. Don't make Dean pay for your daddy's stupidity"

Sam was furious. He wasn't a kid any more, so why did everyone—his father, Dean, and now Bobby—insist on treating him like one? He'd been an adult in mind much longer than he had been in body. He'd taken care of his life while still living with his father and brother, and then he left for Stanford. Then the demon had stepped back into his life. "This… this thing… it's about me and me alone."

"Dammit! How can you say that! Anything that affects you affects Dean. You know better. With your daddy gone, it's just the two of you."

Sam slumped in his chair. "Dean's afraid and that…." Sam resisted giving voice to the fear, making it more real. He had thought about just giving up so Dean wouldn't have to execute their father's final order. But he knew Dean would give up, too, if anything happened to him. This demon destroyed everything he loved. Only Dean was left. Dean's faith and support of him were what he needed most. He couldn't bear to ask for Dean's thoughts, afraid of what he'd hear. Did he still want to lie low? Did he really believe they could escape the demon's notice that way?

Bobby ached for the boys. They'd lost three alpha males from their tight-knit circle: John, Pastor Jim, and Caleb. Although Bobby and John had been on the outs, he still hoped the boys knew he was there for them. Whatever this thing was about—and he knew it had to do with that demon—it was sending them into a maelstrom where they would need each other to escape. War was on the horizon, and these two were desperately needed in the fight. Dean would fight, but his defense of Sam would always come first. If Sam left or was attacked, Dean would leave the battlefield in a heartbeat. Sam was pivotal. Too many incidents with the demon involved him for him not to be. What that meant for the Winchesters, for their side, remained a mystery.

Sam dropped a file onto the kitchen table. "I think this is our best option to try the spell. In the Killdeer Mountains of North Dakota, there've been several hikers and campers who've died near Spring Creek. Locals are claiming that bobcats are attacking the people, but I don't think so. With the flesh being shredded off the bones which were then crushed, it just doesn't seem right.

Dean scrunched his face in disgust at the mental picture. "Huh. So do you think a spirit is responsible? Not a Black Dog? A banshee?"

"I'm not sure, but the region was settled by Norwegians, and I'm looking at their legends. After the scarecrow in Burkitsville, I think this thing might be an import. Or it could be just an animal. We should check it out. Something is killing people, and, if it's not a spirit, it's some­thing evil.

"Manning, the town nearest to the attacks, doesn't have a big population. Heck, the whole region is sparse. We might want to start in Killdeer looking for info since it actually has a library. The bodies were taken to the morgue at St. Joseph's, which is about 40 miles away in Dickenson. We should go there, too."

***

Bobby stood next to Dean, watching as Sam slammed the trunk lid shut on the last of their gear. Trying to cheer Dean up, Bobby pointed out, "He's still going with you. You need to try to get him to open up about all this. If he keeps whatever he's thinking inside, he's gonna blow. He needs to trust you again. He needs _you_ to trust _him_. Do you?"

"I know him; hell, I raised him. There's not an evil bone in his body. He wanted away from this life, and now it's sucked him back in, and he can't escape." Dean stopped talking. He'd said too much to Bobby already, and he might pick up on the secret. And it was theirs and theirs alone. "We'll be okay."

Dean stepped from under the porch, stooping to give England a pat. "Ready, Sam?"

"Yeah. See you, Bobby," he called out, waving.

"You boys call if you need anything."

"Sure, but there might not even be an internet connection in the motel." A half smile twisted Sam's lips as he folded his long legs into the Impala and shut the door.

Dean waved to Bobby and joined his brother in the car.

When the cloud of dust had dispersed, Bobby went back inside. He wished the Winchesters the best and not just with the hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

Sam sat slumped at the tiny table in their room. The laptop was open, but the screen saver had kicked in a while ago. He was slumped in the chair, pen twirling in his right hand. Besides being a habit, it helped to keep his fingers mobile until the cast could come off. His eyes were not focused on anything in front of him. Instead, he was running scenarios inside his head about the yellow-eyed demon.

He knew the demon would go after Dean next when it decided to collect Sam. It had admitted to them that his mother and his girlfriend had "gotten in the way" of all its plans.

Sam swallowed thickly. Dean, who had been his role model his whole life, would stop at nothing to protect his brother. He'd kept their father's secret from him since John had begged him not to tell Sam. Sam had no idea how they could stop the demon's plans for him. Only one thing was certain. Sam would not allow Dean to pay the price his other loved ones had. Sam would stop himself from becoming what they hunted so that Dean wouldn't have to kill him. And thus destroy himself.

The nightmares were back. He kept Dean in the dark, letting him think they were about Jessica and the cabin, but they weren't. Dean took center stage in all of them. Dean dying… and not quickly. Sam wanted to give up. The Colt was gone, but it hadn't worked anyway. When he had shot the demon at Monica's, it had vanished unharmed. It was immune to holy water, and Sam really didn't want to get close enough to try an exorcism to banish it to hell.

Banishment. . .Banishing spirits. . . He let it wander into his mind before grasping it firmly. Sam sat bolt upright at a distant memory of Joshua's late night tales about vicious spirits. He touched the computer to waken it before linking to a favorite website. There he typed in some keywords. Yahtzee. Now he had a name for the thing: _utburd_. He took all the notes he thought he needed and turned off the computer, turned off the lights, and tried to turn off his thoughts. He wanted to get a little sleep before being yanked out by another nightmare.

**

Dean was huddled under the blankets when a blast of cold air struck him. He scrunched down until the aroma of coffee lured him out. Sam must have gotten them breakfast. He rolled over and blinked at the weak light coming in through the windows. "Dude. What time is it?"

"Not as early as you might think. It looks like a storm is rolling in." Sam handed his brother coffee and a brown bag filled with donuts. "I think I figured out what we're up against."

Dean scrubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and peered at Sam.

"It's an _utburd_." At Dean's raised eyebrows, Sam grinned before continuing. "It's connected to the Norwegian settlers. I don't know when this thing became a ghost; I hope it was a long time ago. It's the spirit of an infant that was left exposed either because it was ill or… unwanted. The pioneers had to deal with blizzards and being snowbound, and often an extra mouth was too much." Bleak eyes met bleaker eyes. "It gets really strong as a ghost, but it doesn't go away once it's had its revenge on its mother. It chases travelers, crushes their bones, and rips them apart. Sound familiar? Running water and iron are the only things that can repel it."

"Okay," sighed Dean as he ran one hand through his hair. "Any ideas about where we start looking?"

"We should find out where the bodies were found."

"Leave that to me. There must be some perky officers of the law here, and I…."

"Whatever. Just don't take all day."

"You are no fun, Sammy."

***

Dean chortled as he sauntered out of the police station, scoring once again more than just information. He stuffed Rachael's number into his pocket. If Sam was planning to be a killjoy again, he had a backup plan.

More clouds had rolled in while he had been inside. If it started to snow, they'd have to call off the hunt. Drifts would slow them down and cut visibility. Besides, they needed a fire for the spell. Pulling out his phone, Dean dialed Sam, who answered immediately.

"Dude. I was just going to call you. I've got what I was looking for. You?"

"Yeah, Sam, I'm on my way back." As a team, they were smooth, getting more in sync with their reactions and responses, thinking along the same lines. But now? At times, Dean almost hated his father. Why hadn't he trusted them sooner, told them in Manning all that he knew? Dean was con­sumed with emotions he'd never allowed him­self to acknowledge before: guilt, fear, a sense of failure. He was on a tightrope around Sam, not because he was afraid of _Sam_ but afraid of Sam's censure and potential desertion. He'd been so devastated and wrathful after Jessica's murder, then infuriated when Dean told him that he would have to kill him if he went evil. Dean had preferred Sam's anger to this wall he'd built and his refusal to respond to any overtures from Dean. He'd always been the one to reach out; Dean was now the one being rebuffed.

Walking into their motel room, Dean found Sam hunched over an area map. Striding up to stand next to his brother, Dean pulled out his notes and began marking coordinates where the bodies were found. They made a relatively straight line. Maybe there was a cow path or walking trail. Sam stabbed the line with a finger, exclaiming, "The body has to be near here. Legend says the _utburd_ chases its victims once they cross its path, so I'm guessing we can start here. We've got several hours until dark."

Dean threw his duffle onto his bed. Pulling out his shotgun and an iron knife, he tossed another set over to Sam's bed. "Let's go," he said, allowing his usual cocky grin to slide back in place. Here was something he could fight and take down.

***

The Impala was behind them; Dean couldn't get it any closer to Sam's chosen coordinates. Dean fingered the rock salt shells in his pocket. It was just a spirit. "You say this thing can paralyze someone if they look right at it?"

"Yeah. If you hear footsteps, don't look back unless you've got your knife in hand." Sam spoke curtly to his brother's back.

Dean pumped the shotgun to load a shell and led the way up the faint trail.

"It's getting dark, do you think—" Sam was interrupted by a low cry. Both men looked around slowly and cautiously, knives at the ready. Dean pointed to what looked like an owl floating overhead before it vanished.

Sam nodded and whispered, "That's it. It can take the form of an owl."

They both heard a crashing and tearing down the trail behind them. Moving back to back, each focused only on the area within his range of view. Dean was facing northwest and saw an amorphous shape moving towards them. He nudged Sam, and both watched it before it popped out of existence when it got within three feet of iron.

Dean stalked over to where he'd seen it appear and pushed a short piece of painted rebar into the ground to mark their starting point. The brothers looked around. To the right of them, the Knife River glinted. The irony of the name didn't escape Sam. It hadn't frozen over yet, but moved sluggishly between its high banks. Sparse snow covered the ground. The spell had to be cast at midnight, so they had a few hours. Hopefully, the storm would hold off.

**

Eager to tell Bobby their plan, Dean dialed the salvage yard as soon as they got back to the motel. "Hey, Bobby, it's Dean. We're going after this thing tonight. We think we've got the area narrowed down enough to try the spell. Sam's getting all the stuff ready since he'll do the casting."

"You boys be careful," the older man cautioned. "You know spirits freak out when their bones are found. It will go berserk."

"Like that's something new. Don't worry, Bobby; we'll be careful. One of us will call when we get back to let you know how it worked."

Dean closed his phone and started checking his own gear. He would have to dig up the grave while making sure the _utburd_ didn't attack either him or Sam. Slinging his duffle over one shoulder, Dean walked out the door and into a chill wind. He could smell snow in the air. Not good. "Sam, maybe we should hold off on this gig?"

"No," his brother argued, "the reports say this storm is going to come in sometime tomorrow and be really heavy. We'd have to call off this job, maybe even until spring. I don't want to do that. We need to test this spell. There could be other not-so-cold jobs which we can use this for."

"All right. So long as you can do the spell with the wind. We find the bones, salt and burn them, and get out of here." Dean's eyes fol­lowed his brother. He was worried. He snorted. When did he not worry about Sam?

Sam climbed into the car. As long as he focused on the hunt, he wasn't scared. But the second his mind wandered, he felt fear rising up inside. Fear for Dean, fear for himself. He thanked his lucky stars that he'd not really kept up contact with Sarah. If he had, she might have become a target too. He clutched the memory of their goodbye kiss deep inside, pulling it out sometimes to warm him when he was cold. A solution to his dilemma kept presenting itself, but the damage it would inflict upon Dean helped him suppress it. He knew what Dean's final act would be.

Dean watched Sam, slumped in his seat, out of the corner of his eye as he drove back towards the Knife River. Last night, neither had slept well. Dean had lain listening to his brother tossing and turning before waking up, gasping with harsh breaths. He refused to talk about the nightmares. Sam looked as he had when they'd left Palo Alto. All the equanimity he'd recov­ered was gone. He wasn't consumed with the need for revenge as he had been. The calmness he exhibited did nothing to allay Dean's concern. He was afraid Sam would find a way to self-destruct. Why hadn't he told Sam the truth sooner? How could he regain his brother's trust? He just had to keep an eye out, watch out for Sam, like he always had.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

The stiff breeze whipped Sam's hair into his face when he climbed out of the car. He had needed a haircut for a while; he'd just put it off as being unimportant. He'd have to make sure he could see the spell's text. Losing his place could be detrimental to their experiment. He looked over at Dean, who was dragging their weapons out of the trunk. He'd spent last night cleaning the guns while Sam had made all his notes for the ritual and ground the herbs together with a mortar and pestle. All the ingredients were combined and stored in baggies numbered in order of placement in the silver bowl. Sam hefted the bundle of firewood onto his left shoulder and followed Dean up the valley, both bearing knives in their free hands.

The river glinted like silver in the moonlight, its flow sluggish, rippling in the wind. Dean had to get his bearings, turning around in a circle until he spotted the rebar sticking out of the ground. Stalking over to it, he slung the duffle to the ground. Digging out the shotgun, Dean checked the extra rock salt rounds that were already in his coat pocket. He stood on the hillside slightly above Sam as the younger man pulled out all his supplies, knelt, and laid them on the ground around him. He seemed distracted and had to keep pausing and restarting his mental inven­tory.

When the fire was going, Sam looked at Dean. "Once I start this thing, I can't stop. Keep an eye out for the _utburd,_ but don't let it paralyze you. I don't know when it will figure out what I'm trying to do and get angry and come after us."

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. I'll be watching out for you mostly, Sam."

He watched his brother fiddle with the bags. "Dammit, you're not focusing here. What's wrong with you? Sam?" Looking at the crown of his brother's unresponsive head, he sighed. "You watch out too. Keep that knife in your hand."

"Dude, I'm going to need both hands to do this. How the hell can I hold a flashlight, add the ingredients, say the spell, and hang onto a knife?" Sam was frustrated with his brother. Once again, Dean was trying to protect Sam by smothering him and making him feel like a teen again.

"I don't know, Geek Boy; you figure it out. Here, I'll hold the flashlight so you can see. Put the knife between your teeth and—"

"And how am I supposed to read aloud?"

"Huh. Well, keep the knife really close, okay?"

"Sure. Besides, with you doing pitbull duty, I'm safe."

Dean wasn't sure if he liked the comparison, but it was accurate. His shoulders hunched under his coat, and he felt his short hair was ruffling in the increasing breeze. "Let's get this done; it's getting colder by the minute."

Sam picked up the first packet and poured it into the bowl. He threw a handful of elder chips on the fire and began to read the Latin text. At various points, he would pause and add the contents of another baggie to the bowl.

Sam's voice, rising and falling in a well-practiced cadence, rose from the ground before him. Dean kept his eyes on the surrounding hillside looking for any sign of that ghost. A patch of mist arose from the riverbank. It could just be fog, but Dean doubted it. "I think I see it," he whispered so as not to disturb his brother. Sam nodded but did not falter with the spell. He knew Dean would take care of that thing, keeping it off his back until he was done, and they could spot the tiny grave.

The fog began to coalesce into a large blob. Dean raised the knife with a smirk. "Can't come near us," he taunted it. Big mistake.

The _utburd_ could not touch one who was carrying an iron knife, but this one had been alive over a hundred years. In that time, it had grown in strength. It could manipulate some of the area around it. A hail of pebbles flew at Dean. "What the…! Dude. This thing can throw stuff!"

Sam ducked his head; he was almost done. One more bag of herbs and they'd know. _Done_, he thought.

Off to the left, towards the river, a light was beginning to glisten. He pointed towards it, hoping Dean could see his gesture. He had to keep re-reading the text; if he stopped, the spell would be over, and they would lose sight of the grave. It was now up to Dean.

More tiny rocks pelted him as he ran towards the grave. The assault grew stronger as he drove the shovel into the soil. The ground was frozen and digging was difficult. He leaned his weight onto the shovel's blade and was finally rewarded with a snapping sound. He dropped down and scooped away soil revealing that the blade had shattered the infant's skull.

The _utburd_ renewed its assault on him. He covered his head, but bloody streaks already marred his face, and he knew he'd find bruises tomorrow. The _utburd_ shrieked and dove at him, driving him away from its grave. "Sam! I found it, but it won't leave me alone! Burn it!"

Dean staggered away up the hillside followed by the _utburd_. Realizing he had left the shotgun lying on the ground, he reached into his jacket and grabbed one of the shells. He popped it open and held the handful of rock salt, waiting for the right moment to throw it.

Sam watched as Dean was driven away. He didn't seem in any major danger since he carried his knife, but, still, that had to be painful. Sam scooped up the container of salt and bottle of lighter fluid. Upon reaching the grave, he scraped at the frozen ground until the tiny skeleton was exposed. A wave of grief washed over him. Here was a child who had not been given a chance at life. Dead, it was angry and full of revenge. Sam had been given a chance, and death shadowed him, killing those he loved. It wasn't fair.

"Sam! Stop looking at it and burn it!"

Sam shifted, shook salt onto the bones and then lighter fluid. The _utburd_ seemed to realize something was happening to its bones and swung around to see Sam.

"Oh, no." Dean didn't see a knife in Sam's hand. "Sam! _Knife_?!"

Sam glanced back towards the fire and saw his blade glinting on the ground. The _utburd_ was between him and his knife. He locked eyes with Dean, apologetic and regretful, before his mind went into gear again. Running water. He shot up off the ground, spun, headed towards the river. His long legs carried him over the river's bank into the icy liquid below. Safe for now.

Dean hadn't seen the _utburd_ reach Sam nor did he hear any sounds. "Sam? _Sammy_? You okay?"

He had taken a few steps towards the river bank when the _utburd_ swirled up and flew at him. Instinct made him turn and run. Rocks rained down on his head as he stumbled up the slope. He tripped several times but was always able to draw himself upright and stay on his feet. He was circling past where Sam had cast the spell when he tripped and went down. Blinding pain engulfed him and sparks filled his sight. He maintained his grip on his knife, however, but his flashlight fell out of reach.

Sam rose from the river dripping and shivering. It had to be below freezing and, with the wind whipping around, all the warmth was rapidly being sucked out of his body. He looked up over the riverbank's edge and saw Dean dodging around. It would have been funny if it weren't so serious.

Sam levered himself over the edge and scrambled towards the grave. He had dropped the lighter when he had run, so now he grabbed it up, flicked it on, and threw it on the corpse. The flames that rose were welcomed by his body.

He looked up triumphantly to yell at Dean just as Dean tripped and fell down and lay still, the _utburd_ hovering over him. It shuddered and spun in midair as it realized what Sam had done. It dove towards its grave, but the flames had consumed too much of its skeleton, and it dissipated into nothingness before it reached the younger Winchester.

"Whoo! Dean, get up! We did it!"

Sam headed towards the dying fire to gather the bowl and other things when he realized Dean hadn't answered. "Dean?" Sam turned, ran over, and grasped his shoulders. One hand encountered something warm and sticky. Dean's body didn't roll over, so Sam tried to lift his brother as he realized what had happened. Dean had tripped and fallen onto the rebar marker they had planted.

"Dean! Come on, wake up!" Sam found his pulse, rapid but strong. Dean's eyes flickered open. "Don't move, Dean, you're hurt."

"Son of a bitch. Like I needed you to tell me that."

Sam shook his head in frustration as he propped his brother's torso against his own legs. He picked up the flashlight to see how bad the wound was. Opening Dean's jacket, Sam saw that the bar had gone into the left shoulder right below the collarbone. Checking his brother's back, he found no blood, so it hadn't gone all the way through.

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah, help me up."

Sam pulled his brother upright and held on until he was sure Dean was steady. When he shrugged off help, Sam backed away.

Dean followed at a slower pace behind Sam, who gathered all the tools and repacked them into the duffle. His clothes soaked, he knew they both had to get back to the motel fast. They staggered down the hill towards the Impala as snow started to fall.

Dean sank onto the bed farthest from the door. The drive back had been longer than the drive there. What had started out as snow flurries had increased to a steady snowfall. Sam had had to drive slowly just to see the road dimly illuminated by the car's headlights. Easing his jacket off with a wince, Dean reached up with his right hand to probe the wound. Sam smacked the hand away. "Just let me get the first aid kit and I'll look at it."

Dean wanted to fall back onto the bed but needed to wait until Sam was finished. Once down, he didn't want to have to move until morning. Sam came out of the bathroom, empty-handed.

"Dude. Where's the kit?"

The look of confusion on Sam's face sent a jolt of adrenaline through Dean.

"No, Dean. I'll get it. Sorry, I was thinking about …." Sam's voice trailed off as he re-entered the bathroom.

Dean could hear Sam rummaging through the kit and things falling to the floor. Half-muffled curses drifted out of the bathroom. Dean attempted to get up to see what was wrong, but Sam finally came out, bandages and peroxide held aloft in either hand victoriously. He stumbled as he approached the bed, and Dean snorted. Trust his brother to trip over a pattern in the carpet.

Sam turned on the light between the beds so he could see to work. It gave Dean the opportunity to check on his brother. Something was not right. Sam reached out to peel back the edge of Dean's shirt.

Dean jumped when he felt Sam's glacial touch. Jerking back, his vision blacked out from the too-quick movement. "Sam! What the hell? You're freezing!" Noticing his brother's drip­ping hair for the first time, Dean remembered Sam jumping over the riverbank to escape the _utburd_. Running water. The river. He reached out and grasped Sam's shaking and frigid hands.

Sam tried to still his hands, but they betrayed him by refusing to listen. "Let me look at your wound. When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?" At least that's what Dean figured he had said.

Sam was slurring his speech, probably succumb­ing to hypothermia. He needed to be warmed immediately. "I am not letting you touch me with hands that cold, Dude. We need to get you warmed up before you can fix me." Dean played mercilessly on Sam's need to help his brother.

Levering himself off the bed, Dean shuffled towards the bathroom, calling out instructions behind him. "Get some warm, dry clothes and come here." Hearing nothing behind him, he called again, "Sam? You still with me?"

Dean grabbed a towel and handed it to his brother as he headed towards the coffee pot on the sideboard. Drinking something warm could help.

"Yeah, I think so." Sam sighed, sounding suddenly too tired to move. Dean knew that Sam knew that Dean would strip him by force, and that implied threat was the only thing motivating him to head into the bathroom.

"Get dried off, get dressed, and get yourself out here to help me. Can you do that for me?" Dean wasn't sure just how bad Sam was, so he raised the thermostat anyway. He knew he'd have to try to make sure pneumonia wouldn't develop later, but right now he needed to judge the severity of the hypothermia. "Sammy?"

"I'm moving…. Just give me a minute. Alone. I don't need your help getting dressed."

"Sure thing, but if you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in."

Sam made it out in four.

Dean had peeled off his shirt and laid out the supplies Sam would probably need. He'd sponged most of the dried blood off his chest to see how ragged the wound was. Dean handed Sam coffee.

Sam grasped the coffee mug to warm his hands before swallowing a generous amount. "Move your hands."

Dean winced as Sam began to prod to see how deep the damage was. "Looks like the bar went in right under the clavicle. I think your shoulder blade stopped it from going out the back. Can you move your arm at all?"

Dean rotated his left arm slowly; it burned like fire, but he could move it. "It doesn't seem to be broken, just really painful." Dean felt a bit of relief at that. If it was broken, they'd have to go to the hospital, and he vaguely remembered that St. Joseph's was in Killdeer, 40 miles away.

Sam poured peroxide onto a gauze pad and tried to clean the wound. Dean's right hand grasped the bedcovers, white-fisted. When Sam looked satisfied with the result, he pulled the suture kit towards him.

Dean looked askance at Sam, whose hands were still shaking. He knew Sam was going to crash hard, but he needed the hole in his shoulder closed up. He just hoped Sam's fine motor skills would last long enough. "Sam? How ya doing?"

Sam looked up at Dean through the bangs that had fallen forward making him look much younger. "I'm okay. Ready?"

At Dean's nod of acquiescence, Sam pierced the hole's edges and began drawing the flesh back together. He didn't want to rush, but he could feel his mind distancing himself from his body and knew he needed to hurry.

There. Dean's wound was closed and not a moment too soon. Sam's hands became heavy with fatigue and fell to his lap. He began to shiver and shake. Trying to stand, he stumbled backwards.

Dean lurched upright to catch Sam, easing him down onto his bed. He could feel his brother's body trembling. "All right, playtime's over. Get under the covers." Grasping Sam's right arm to ease him down, Dean discovered that his brother's fiberglass cast seemed to have weathered the involuntary immersion better than Sam himself had.

He jerked back the bed linens and forced a protesting Sam under them. By this time, Sam was rambling and practically incoherent. Dean had no idea what Sam was trying to tell him. Sam's breathing had become shallow, and his pulse was slow.

Dean didn't want to leave, but, from the looks of things, they were going to need some sup­plies, and there was the storm to think about. Placing a hand on his brother's shoulder,

Dean asked, "Will you be okay for a bit? I need to get us a few things."

At Sam's slow nod, Dean eased on his leather jacket. Thank God he had worn the other one to the gravesite. He checked his wallet for cash and opened the door. A world of whirling snow greeted his gaze. He was grateful that the market was only a couple hundred yards away. There was no way he could control the Impala on slippery roads with his shoulder hurting the way it was. Putting his head down against the wind, Dean shuffled through the new snow towards the beckoning lights.


	4. Chapter 4

**Snow Bound**

**Chapter Four**

A/N: I own nothing from the world of Supernatural though I wish I did.

* * *

The chiming bell echoed through the empty store as the door opened. Grabbing a hand-basket, Dean prowled the aisles looking for micro­wavable food that didn't require a fridge. A distant memory of one of Pastor Jim's first aid tricks surfaced, and Dean read the aisle placards until he found what he wanted. He dropped several bags of rice on top of the cans of soup, tea, aspirin, honey, and cold medicine already in the basket.

"What's the forecast?" he asked the freckle-faced kid manning the checkout lane.

"A big storm is moving in. We're probably going to be snowed in for several days. Is that all for you?"

"Yeah." Dean gathered his bags together and headed back to Sam. The wind seemed determined to keep Dean from reaching his brother. The cold bit deep into his bones and his wound. It soon became a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Only the thought of Sam waiting for him kept him moving.

Shivering, his left arm was throbbing by the time he set the groceries down to pull out the room key. A gust of warm air escaped before he shut the door behind him. Sam didn't seem to have moved.

Dean eased the bags onto the kitchen table and put a cup of water in the microwave. While it was heating, Dean went to check on his brother. Sam's face was too cool. The microwave pinged, Dean opened up the box of tea, plopped a tea bag into the hot water, squeezed a large dollop of honey into it, and took it to his brother's bedside. Then, he unpacked the rest of the groceries, struggling to open the aspirin one-handed. Man, he hated childproof tops. He downed a few himself before taking some to Sam. He gently shook his brother awake and helped him sit up. "Take these. Drink this. You need to get something warm into you."

Sam obeyed his brother and then fell back down into the depths of sleep.

Dean pulled out two clean socks and partially filled them with rice and tied them shut. He microwaved them so they were warm but not too hot and placed them on Sam's chest. Dean dragged his bedspread off his bed, lay down next to Sam, and covered them both. He knew his body heat would help raise Sam's core temperature slowly, while the tea would help too.

Dean followed Sam into unconsciousness.

**

Dean jerked awake, not knowing what had startled him at first. The wind rivaled a banshee outside the motel door. A pool of light from the lamp was the only illumination in the room.

Dean inched up until his back was against the headboard. He felt Sam's forehead; it was warm to the touch. Checking his watch, Dean determined both Winchesters could have more aspirin. Tucking the bedspread around Sam, Dean made tea for Sam and coffee for himself. His body craved more sleep, but he needed to make sure Sam was all right and out of danger. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean gently shook his brother's shoulder.

"Wake up."

Sam's eyes flickered several times before finally staying open. "Why?" He obviously didn't want to wake up. He tried to roll over, but Dean forced him upright and handed him the mug of tea and the aspirins.

"You need to get warm. This should help."

Sam obediently drank the tea without question. Dean figured he thought that would make his brother leave him alone. He could tell that all Sam wanted was to escape into sleep and never wake up, solving all their problems. Once the tea was gone, Sam burrowed back into the covers.

"I need you to wake up." Dean was insistent. He needed to hear Sam talk to determine if he was improving or if Dean should risk driving to Killdeer. He pulled at his brother's shoulder again. "Sam."

"Whaaat?" Sam flailed at the direction of his voice.

Dean pulled Sam's body upright until he opened his eyes and squinted in the subdued lamplight. Sam's head fell back with a crack as it hit the headboard. He glared at Dean with a wounded expression.

"Sorry. Muscle spasm." Dean felt guilty. A concussion was not what Sam needed now.

" 'salright. Howze your arm?"

Sam's slurring worried Dean. "Sam. I need you to focus and give me a real sentence."

"I wish we hadn't needed to destroy that _utburd_."

"What?" Dean was both relieved and shocked. Sam was speaking, but where did he get this from? "What are you talking about? That thing killed people."

"Yeah, but it never got a chance at life. Its own parents killed it."

Where was Sam going with this? "Angry spirits are people who were killed. We deal with them all the time. This one just never really had a chance to live."

"I wish I'd never really lived. Things would have been better for everyone."

Sam's voice was so soft that Dean wasn't sure what he'd just heard. "Sam. What are you saying?" Dean became afraid for a whole new reason. Sam had to stop being scared of himself. They would deal with their problem head on.

He reached out and gave Sam a small shake. "You're crazy. I need you here, with me. I don't regret having you as my brother, so stop thinking that."

Sam's eyes were fever bright; his face flushed. He was definitely going to get sick. How sick, Dean had no idea. "Promise me you'll stay with me."

"What?" Sam's eyes were once more drooping closed as he sank once again into darkness. Dean hoped his brother heard him calling his name, but was terrified Sam might chose to ignore it.

Sam was unconscious. Dean tried to wake him up to no avail.

He settled his brother's lanky body back under the covers, then opened the door to look outside. He couldn't even see the Impala parked right in front of him through the thick snowfall. He'd have to deal with this himself. Nothing new there. Closing the door, Dean made more coffee for himself.

Dean had dozed off without intending to. Sam's thrashing and muttering woke him up. His younger brother's face was still flushed and his breathing harsh.

Dean went to search their medical supplies for something he could give his brother. The hot liquid cold medicine seemed his best bet. He still wasn't sure if Sam was over the hypothermia and just suffering from a cold now. "Wake up, Sammy."

Sam was never compliant when ill. Dean braced for a battle.

"Why?"

"Because I need you to drink this."

"Why?"

"It will make you get better."

"Why?"

"Because it's medicine."

"No. Why do I need to get better?"

Dean was stunned by the question and at a loss for words. Lately, there had been a rift between them created by his silence about Sam's supposed destiny. Sam had alternated between anger and despair. It seemed despair had the upper hand now. "Sammy. I need you here, with me. We can fight this."

"I'm so tired of losing people I love. We know it's my fault. We know what I'm expected to do."

"Since when did you ever do what was expected of you?" Dean was trying for a smile, some acknowledgment from his brother.

Sam ignored the light humor. He scrunched down in the bed and turned his face into the pillow.

"Sam. Drink this."

"Why bother? Dean, I… how can you stick around? You're scared. Of me. Just let me… sleep. Things will be better. You can go on and just worry about hunting things, saving lives. I kill everyone around me. I…." Sam's voice trailed away as if he couldn't say what he needed to. But Dean could guess his brother's thoughts—if Dean stayed, he would get hurt or killed. The demon. Another hunter. Someone or something would find them, and Dean would try to save him, as always, and maybe die instead.

As if unaware that Dean had a pretty good idea what was going on in his mind, Sam continued, "I've wondered. If Dad hadn't made the deal… if it had been just me and him, would he have told me? Did he choose to _leave_ so he wouldn't have to face what's coming? Wouldn't have to face _me_? Wouldn't have to deal with all this? Or would he have just . . " Sam's face showed what he was thinking. Would John have killed his youngest?

Sam's voice became more strident. Flailing, he sat up and scooted back against the headboard. Dean tried to help but was pushed away roughly. Fever sweat made Sam's bangs cling to his brow and his shirt cling to his torso. Dean realized Sam was becoming incoherent again. He had to reach him before his fever dreams became his reality. He had to convince him how much he needed him.

Dean rarely pleaded for anything, but now he was begging with all his heart. "Don't you leave me, Sam!"

"My leaving you will save your life."

"My life won't be worth saving if you leave."

The two brothers stared at each other. Both were terrified of losing the other. They'd lost so much in their hard lives that the thought of more loss was crippling them.

"You once pointed out that we were raised to be warriors. We have to fight this, all of this, together. I am **not** going to abandon you! Not now, not ever." Dean's vehement argument seemed to break through Sam's wall.

"Why not? Then you could live your own life."

Dean wanted to slam his fist into the wall with frustration. He didn't. He grasped Sam's shoulder instead. "You _are_ my life." He waited to see how Sam would respond.

Dean saw Sam look up at him as he had through the years. A look of trust, of relief, of… a brother's love.

"You'll stay with me, Sammy?" The question was about more than the moment and so was the answer.

"I guess I will stick around." The corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile, and Sam scrunched down into the covers.

Dean realized that Sam might question his choice today or in the future, but, right now, he couldn't abandon his brother… his family. It might have been the easier choice, but the Winchesters never took the easy path anywhere.

As Sam drifted off to sleep, Dean began to relax. He turned off the light and lay down on his own bed. His eyes were drifting closed when he remembered another promise.

Not thinking, Dean tried to use his left arm to propel himself upright. After he could see again, he picked up his phone and dialed. "Hey, Bobby. The spell worked. We were able to destroy the spirit Sam sent us after. We'll give you all the gory details later.

"Ummm. It'll be a few days. We're kinda snowed in here. We're a little banged up, but, yeah, I think we're gonna be okay. Talk to you later. Thanks again, for everything."

Dean hung up and whispered in the darkened room. "We're gonna be okay Sammy; we'll be okay."

* * *

_Thus ends this story. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story. I really appreciate all your kind words. And thanks again to Blackfly Press who first published it in Chinook #7._


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